


Everything I Know

by WrongRemedy



Category: In the Heights - Miranda
Genre: Boys In Love, Feelings, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7445041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrongRemedy/pseuds/WrongRemedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sonny and Pete discovering and dealing with their feelings for one another over the course of a few years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything I Know

**Author's Note:**

> T rating is for language. 
> 
> Title is from the musical, obviously, because of the way I phrased all the section intros.
> 
> Note that Sonny and Pete are both underage in the first section BUT there is no physical contact between them until they are both 18+, and even then it's just kissing.

_Pete, age 17. Sonny, age 16._

Pete has known for as long as he can remember that the barrio is his home. He knows that no matter how far away he gets from Washington Heights someday, there will always be something about the place that’s _his_ , something that will let him come back after any length of time and still feel like he’s surrounded by the familiar. He was born here, raised here; it’s the only place he’s ever really known. But that doesn’t stop him from feeling sometimes like he’s basically the neighborhood equivalent of the damn Boogie Man.

Pete’s a good person. He’d never hurt anybody for any reason other than defending himself or someone he cares about. He likes animals, and kids, and dancing, and art of all kinds, and he dreams vividly, of a wild number of things. Pete is also the horror story that concerned parents use to threaten their troubled teens.

“You have to stay in school, Niño,” they say, waggling a finger. “You don’t want to spend the rest of your life tagging buildings with Graffiti Pete, do you?” Like Pete has a gang or some shit; like he’s destined for nothing greater than petty criminal activity.

“No Mamá,” their kids say, shaking their heads sadly as they think of Pete, out on the streets in the middle of the day while every other kid his age is sitting through their classes trying to make something of themselves beyond “someone who spray paints dumpsters and then runs from the cops.”

Pete doesn’t care, mostly, that he’s seen as the one Not To Be. Sure, it means he spends most of his childhood and adolescence with no real friends, but it also means that the one consistant companion he does have means so much more to him.

Sonny is like an anchor. He grounds Pete; makes him feel solid and real and present, like the person he is instead of the reputation he’s perceived as. Sonny is also like a hot air balloon. He lifts Pete up; elevates Pete’s dreams and plans until they look less like the rambling thoughts of a desperate street kid and more like possibilities. He takes Pete above the petty little people in the barrio who can’t see past his juvie record. Sonny is Pete’s best friend, and Pete is in love with him.

—

_Pete, age 18. Sonny, age 17._

Pete has known that he’s in love with Sonny since a year ago to the day. He hasn’t told Sonny this yet.

Sonny is driven, idealistic, and _smart_. He’s going places, places that will let him change lives and make a difference. Pete wouldn’t say that Sonny is _better_ than him, he’d never pit them against each other like that, not even in his own mind. But Sonny is _more_ than Pete, somehow. More expressive, more open, and more likely to make something of himself.

Pete adamantly refuses to do anything that might cause Sonny to deviate from that path to success, and falling in love with – or even just having to deal with the misplaced affections of – his delinquent best friend would most definitely be the type of distraction that Sonny doesn’t need. Pete won’t do that to him, no matter how much time he spends wishing that he could hold Sonny’s hand, or kiss him, or fall asleep next to him, or bite that stupid hint of collarbone that’s always peeking out from Sonny’s loose tanktops. Pete cares about Sonny too much to let his own desires get in Sonny’s way.

—

_Pete, age 19. Sonny, age 18._

Sonny has known that his best friend is in love with him for the past 24 hours. He’s not supposed to know this, but he does, and now he has to figure out what to do about the fact that he knows it.

Sonny has always known that Pete doesn’t have the greatest home life, to say the least. Abusive dad, druggie mom; the typical “dysfunctional kid from the hood” story that nobody should ever have to live even though far too many people do. Pete does his best not to let it ruin him. He spends most of his time out of the house because his parents couldn’t care less whether he’s there or not. Usually Pete is in one of two places: Usnavi and Sonny’s apartment, or the empty lot a little ways down from the bodega that he tends to use as a blank canvas for his tagging. The latter is where Pete was when Sonny learned this new information. 

Sonny had come into the bodega earlier in the day and asked if he could spend the night at Sonny and Usnavi’s place.

“Of course,” Sonny had said immediately.

“Long as you promise not to spray paint our walls,” Usnavi had said, smiling, like he always did when Pete asked that question. Sonny thinks Usnavi isn’t as funny as he likes to think he is, but Pete’s so grateful to have Usnavi’s approval after so many years without it that he always laughs along.

“Scout’s honor,” Pete swore, doing the salute and everything.

“Get outta here,” Usnavi snapped a rag at Pete, laughing. “You ain’t never been a Boy Scout.”

“Nahhh,” Pete drawled, making a show of looking around the store before looking Usnavi in the eyes and lowering his voice conspicuously. “But I got some stolen merit badges in my other vest if you’d be interested, man, I’m just sayin’, make yourself look a little more legit.”

Usnavi and Sonny had both laughed and Pete had grinned, shifting the weight of his backpack a little before heading for the door. He’d stopped halfway out of the store, turned to Sonny and said, “I’ll probably be down at the lot for a while, so don’t worry if I don’t get to your place ‘til late. Got a new design in mind but it’s pretty extensive.”

“Just remember, ain’t no use trying to paint in the dark,” Sonny had reminded him. “You always think you can see well enough and then bitch about how it turned out the next day.”

Pete had rolled his eyes, offering Sonny an “alright, Mom” before heading out, and Sonny had gone on with the rest of his day at work.

They’d closed up after dark and Sonny had told Usnavi to go on without him while he went to get Pete from the lot. As he came up on it he’d heard Pete’s voice muttering indistinctly, followed by a loud sigh. Curious, Sonny had peeked around the corner wall enough to see that Pete’s back was to the mouth of the lot, and he was facing the wall in front of him as though he was getting ready to go into battle against it. Sonny leaned and watched, trying to figure out exactly what Pete was doing.

“Sonny,” Pete said abruptly to the wall, and Sonny almost jumped, thinking for a second that Pete somehow knew he was there even though he hadn’t turned around. Before he could say anything, Pete shook his head, huffed out an annoyed breath, and squared his shoulders again, like he was psyching himself up for something.

“Sonny,” he said again, voice softer this time. “I love you, man. …No, fuck, that sounds like how Usnavi would say it, that’s some bro shit, that doesn’t get you a boyfriend. Fuck. Okay. Sonny, you make me so happy, happier than any other person in the world…ugh, you’re not _proposing_ , Pete, Jesus Christ. Sonny….”

At that point Sonny’s common sense had kicked in and he’d realized he was not supposed to be witnessing this – his best friend practicing how best to tell him that he loved him. He’d meant for them to walk back to the apartment together, but he knew there was no way to interrupt Pete without him knowing that Sonny had overheard, and Pete clearly wasn’t ready to have that conversation yet. Instead he’d crept away as quietly as possible, practically running back home as soon as he was out of earshot of the lot, and waited not-very-patiently in his room for Pete to show up.

Pete had come in even later than normal, Sonny had been almost asleep despite the way his mind was racing. Pete was clearly trying to be quiet as he came into Sonny’s room, closed the door behind him, and set his backpack down next to the futon that had been unofficially “his” for years. Sonny had peered through the dark, only able to see the vague shape of Pete as he pulled a pair of running shorts out of his backpack and changed into them before pulling off his shirt. Sonny had considered feigning sleep, but his mouth had a mind of its own sometimes, and before he could think about it he heard himself saying, quietly, “Whatever you were painting’s gonna look like shit, man, it’s pitch black out.”

Pete, to his credit, didn’t appear to startle at all when he heard Sonny’s voice. Sonny, eyes adjusting to the dark, thought he saw him shrug his shoulders as he got settled on the futon. “Guess I’ll just have to work on it some more, then.”

Sonny suddenly wanted Pete to tell him what he’d practiced in the lot; wanted it with a ferocity that almost scared him. He wanted Pete to tell him he loved him for real, to his face, instead of saying it to a barely-lit wall in an abandoned lot between two run-down buildings. And, he realized with a start, he wanted Pete on the other side of the room, in Sonny’s bed with him instead of on the futon a million years and a few feet away. He said none of that. “Yeah,” he said instead, “practice makes perfect, after all.”

“Yeah,” Pete said, in a voice that would have sounded casual if Sonny had thought they were only talking about painting. “Goodnight, Sonny.”

“Night, Pete,” Sonny had whispered, rolling over and putting his back to Pete. Not being able to stare across the room was the only way he was going to get any sleep. As he drifted off, he heard Pete turn over too.

The next morning he’d woken to find Pete and Usnavi in the kitchen. He’d had breakfast with them, everything seeming perfectly normal. He couldn’t forget what he’d heard the night before. Sonny and Usnavi had gone to work, Pete had gone out who knows where, but he’d asked before he left if he could stay again tonight. Usnavi had broken out of his usual response to laughingly ask, “Why don’t you just move in here permanently, man?” Pete had laughed along and said something about not being able to handle hearing Usnavi’s voice that often, but Sonny thought there was something hollow about the joke.

“Yeah, it’s a chore,” he’d said, earning him a laugh from Pete and a playful punch on the arm from Usnavi, who called him a punk.

Sonny thought about Pete all day at work, and by the time he and Usnavi got home Pete was already sitting on the floor in the hallway outside their apartment door, waiting. He got to his feet as they approached, picking up his backpack and slinging it over one shoulder as they all greeted each other.

“I’m serious, kid,” Usnavi had said to Pete, “I’m gettin’ you a key made, ASAP.”

Pete had shrugged, said casually, “whatever you want, man, it’s your place” before turning to Sonny and asking if he wanted to watch the new movie he’d gotten. Pete’s parents weren’t good for much, but they were always good for cash, if only because throwing it at him tended to keep Pete from bothering them too much about anything else. Sonny had agreed, trying hard to be casual and not dwell on the revelation of Pete’s feelings towards him, and they’d settled in on Sonny’s bed side by side to watch the movie.

Now, an hour and a half later, with the last dramatic battle of the movie taking place onscreen and the room darkening rapidly as the city outside does the same, Sonny can’t help but be hyperaware of how close he and Pete are sitting, how he can feel Pete’s bare arm against his and how with the way Pete is still sitting up straight, entranced by the movie while Sonny is slumped down a little, it would be all too easy to tip to the side just a little and rest his head on Pete’s shoulder. He gets caught up imagining a world in which Pete would react like that was totally normal, just smile and wrap his arm around Sonny and shift to make it more comfortable for both of them. Sonny sits still, and watches the end of the movie.

When the credits roll, Pete reaches for the remote on the bedside table and switches the regular channels on, but mutes it so that the light is there but the sound isn’t. He lays the remote back down and starts to shift, and Sonny can’t even try to fight back the rising emotion that feels stupidly like panic when he realizes that Pete is about to try and leave the bed to go over to the futon. He’s had enough of this, he can’t let Pete move away from him, he has to tell him that he knows. Before he can talk himself out of it, Sonny reaches out a hand and grabs Pete by the arm, stilling him. Pete sits back down and looks at Sonny questioningly.

“Everything alright, man?” Pete asks. Sonny’s heart is hammering so hard in his chest that he thinks they might actually be able to hear it in Jersey, but he forces himself to breathe before he answers.

“I….I have to tell you something,” he says, and Pete looks even more concerned than he did a minute before.

“Are you okay?” Pete asks, and Sonny nods, then shakes his head, then nods again.

“Yes. I mean, yeah, I think I will be, anyway. Or I hope I will be. I just...okay. I overheard you, last night in the lot. I heard what you were saying.”

Pete’s eyes widen, and his mouth opens like he’s going to say something but nothing comes out. After a long second he manages to ask, “What— when were you there?” looking every bit like he’s absolutely terrifed to hear the answer.

“I came to get you,” Sonny explains, “so we could walk home together because it was already dark and I knew you wouldn’t be getting any really productive painting done at that point. But when I got there I heard you say my name, and at first I thought you knew I was there but then you were facing the wall and you kept talking and, Pete, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop and I should have left as soon as I realized you weren’t actually talking to me for real but I just kind of froze. But I did leave as soon as I could, I was totally invading your privacy and I’d never do that on purpose.” Sonny realizes he’s rambling and cuts himself off, wincing. That’s definitely a trait he inherited from Usnavi, and neither one of them has ever really learned how to keep it in check. Normally Pete claims it doesn’t bother him but now he’s looking almost like he’s about to be sick, and Sonny forces himself to shut up long enough to hopefully avoid that. “Pete? Say something?” he asks tentatively, and Pete doe the fish-mouth thing again, opening and closing without any sound coming out. Sonny waits and watches as Pete closes his eyes.

“What, _exactly_ , did you hear?” he whispers finally, eyes never opening. Sonny feels suddenly and inexplicably like he might cry.

“I heard you — I heard you say that you loved me,” Sonny whispers back, watching as Pete winces and draws a deep, measured breath before opening his eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” Pete says, looking at Sonny sadly. “I’m really, really sorry, Sonny.”

“Sorry you said it?” Sonny asks, sounding sharper and more desperate than he’d really wanted to. “Sorry that I heard it? Or sorry that you feel that way?”

“I—all of the above?” Pete responds. “I wasn’t going to tell you for real. I don’t even know why I was practicing. Wishful thinking, I guess.” Pete laughs derisively, like he’s disgusted with himself. Sonny can’t figure out what he’s talking about.

“You weren’t going to tell me?” Pete shakes his head. “Why the hell not?!” Sonny asks, voice hitting the same stupidly high octave that it always does when he gets too worked up about something.

“Because you’re getting out of here someday, Sonny!” Pete somehow manages to keep his voice low enough not to disturb Usnavi hanging out elsewhere in the apartment but still make his statement sound like an exclamation. “I’m just some punk with a bunch of paint cans, but you – you’re gonna do _so much_ , you’re gonna change the damn world. I wasn’t about to get in the way of that. Not when I know you couldn’t feel the same way about me.”

Sonny sits in stunned silence for a few seconds, just trying to process all of that; trying to process how very, very _wrong_ Pete has it. Pete has his eyes lowered, waiting for Sonny’s response, but his gaze snaps back up to Sonny’s face when Sonny finally breathes out, “Pete,” in a pleading voice.

As soon as Pete has looked back at him, Sonny launches himself forward, clumsily aligning their mouths. The kiss is awkward at first, too close to straight on, their noses kind of squishing each other and the pressure of their lips not quite right, but after a few seconds Pete seems to get with the program, moving a hand to the back of Sonny’s head and tilting him so that they can kiss deeper, more thoroughly. Sonny sees fireworks behind his closed eyelids and feels heat all over his body. It feels like the night of the blackout all over again, although this time the fear is only mild, while the feeling of Pete being there for him is at the forefront. It’s amazing. He never wants it to stop, and he expresses this with a whining “no,” when Pete pulls away.

“Shh,” Pete responds, looking Sonny in the eye. “I just have to—why did you do that?”

Sonny laughs in disbelief. “Because I love you too, stupid. Get with it.”

“Really?” Pete asks, like Sonny might actually be lying. Sonny rolls his eyes. “Really. And all that shit about me getting out of the barrio and you being a punk? Stuff it. If I ever leave this place, you’re going with me. You’re gonna be some big hotshot artist someday, just wait. Total fuckin’ sellout, man, designing shit for rich bigwigs and then using their money to take me on dates. It’s gonna be awesome.”

By the time he finishes talking, Pete’s smile could light up the room.

“Now,” Sonny says pointedly, “can we get back to the kissing? Please?”

“Yeah,” Pete says, sounding fond and happy and a little awestruck. “Yeah, we can definitely get back to the kissing.”

And so they do.

—

_Bonus_

Usnavi has known that Pete and Sonny are a couple now for about two minutes. He knows this because they came out of Sonny’s bedroom holding hands this morning, and Sonny nudged Pete encouragingly towards Usnavi until Pete stated hesitantly that he’d really like to take Usnavi up on the offer to move in, if it still stood.

Sonny is standing behind Pete, looking at Usnavi with pure hope in his eyes while Pete unknowingly mirrors the expression as well. Usnavi couldn’t possibly say no even if he wanted to.

“Of course, kid,” Usnavi says, reaching out to pull Pete into a hug. “Welcome home.”

Pete squeezes him tight and Usnavi watches over his shoulder as Sonny practically vibrates with excitement. Pulling back from Pete, Usnavi gives him his best mock-stern face and says warningly, “You better not hurt my cousin and make me regret this.”

Pete steps back and takes Sonny’s hand again, lifting it to his mouth and pressing a kiss to Sonny’s knuckles. Usnavi has never seen Sonny look happier.

“I won’t,” Pete says, totally sincere. “I promise.”

Sonny smiles at Pete, and Pete smiles at Sonny, and Usnavi smiles at both of them. He knows without a doubt that he’s making the right decision.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me talking about Hamilton/In the Heights on tumblr @regards-to-abigail  
> Catch me talking about millions of other fandoms on tumblr @stutter-startle


End file.
